


Kicking and Screaming

by TheMissingPieces



Series: The Mummy plus one [3]
Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Eventual Romance, Evypt, F/M, Love Triangles, Mythology - Freeform, Post-The Mummy, Post-The Mummy Returns, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Variations on Ancient Egyptian Religion, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingPieces/pseuds/TheMissingPieces
Summary: Magdalene is in trouble. She's lost her way. Desperate to move on after it was clear she and Ardeth would never work, Maddie has tried far too hard to become a normal woman. Her brother Jonathan takes her back to Egypt to re-live the glory days and hopefully resolve her black cloud over how she and Ardeth left off.All of them completely oblivious. None of them aware of Imhotep's presence in Cairo.He knows who Magdalene really is. He knows what he has to do to make her understand.Gods from the past are influencing the present, and there isn't a drop of whiskey to get them through.This time it isn't Imhotep or the world. It's Magdalene's soul at risk.
Relationships: Ardeth Bay/Original Character(s), Ardeth Bay/Original Female Character(s), Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell, Imhotep (The Mummy)/Original Character(s), Imhotep (The Mummy)/Original Female Character(s), Imhotep/Original Female Character(s), Jonathan Carnahan/the camel
Series: The Mummy plus one [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/799584
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	1. Big Speech

Magdalene’s lungs burnt, it was impossible to take enough air in under the strain. Her feet clattered against marble and she had reached the point where she was using the momentum of her body to propel herself forward, if she stopped she’d fall over.

“Don’t leave me behind!” she yelled down the corridor.

No one answered her.

Stumbling around the corner she saw the rest of them up ahead of her. Sodding bastards.

“…to have several speakers here today. We welcome them all.”

Panting, Magdalene walked over to the group and sat down with them all, trying to look refined and happy to be there. There was a smattering of applause from the two-hundred-or-so people in front of them, Rick and Evy prominent in the crowd.

Magdalene was here to give a speech on the trust set up by the O’Connells to fund historical research by postgraduates in London Universities. King’s College London had invited several of the charities it worked with to speak, at a self-serving fest of ego-boosting. The Dean had hoped that Evy or Rick would speak, but Evy had suggested that Magdalene was a better choice as it was her idea in the first place.

It had actually been a joke. She said if she was never going to university, they might as well use the money to pay for somebody else to go. Evy took her seriously.

So now she was being asked to make a lot of rich people feel very happy about agreeing with her. She wasn’t used to people agreeing with her. It meant a lot of simpering and gratitude.

“Our first speaker of the evening,” said the portly host, “is Miss Carnahan from the O’Connell-Bembridge Trust.”

There was a second, less enthusiastic applause, as Magdalene stood at the lectern and brushed back a lock of hair that had stuck to her forehead with sweat. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her clutch bag, smoothing it out, focusing desperately on the letters. Evy wrote her speech up on the typewriter but it looked just as squiggly as Magdalene’s terrible handwriting. Probably nerves.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she began, “thank you all for coming here today, it – it is.”

Her lip trembled and she cowered under the eyes of everyone in the room. She noticed a glass of water in the little recess of the lectern and took a sip. What would Evy say?

“Apologies, I’m just taken aback by this lovely banquet hall we’re in, such an impeccable example of ancient history.”

The audience laughed, there were even a few chuckles from the row of men sat behind her. Magdalene smiled and caught sight of Evy who covertly gave her a thumbs up.

“It is a pleasure to have been invited by Dean Jones-Andrews,” Magdalene continued, “and I am delighted to speak to you all about the work our trust has achieved so far…”

* * *

If one thing was worse than a speech, it was the mingling that came after. Magdalene itched all over with the anxiety of socialising and remembering manners and polite conversations, and how to laugh delicately, and every time someone moved their china plates squeaked under the pressure of cutlery – was she using her fish knife properly? – or crystal flutes that clinked together and fizzed, soft footfalls of staff who snuck up behind her and made her jump, the bristle of a moustache as the man next to her ate. It was all _irritating_ and _dull_ and _posh._

Her hair had to be curled for the evening, pinned up around her ears, and it was pulling at her scalp. The dress she was in was floral, with a crimped waist. It had ruffled and creased when she was running and now puckered underneath her arms and she couldn’t get the fabric to go back down.

She got up from the table in a hurry, trailing crumbs from her napkin, which everyone politely pretended not to see.

The floor was wooden, rubbed smooth by the sheer number of heels that had walked on it, echoing with every step Magdalene took. There was a small smoking room to the back, for men only, but no one would mind her loitering in the alcove next to the doorway.

In fact, people minded. It had not occurred to Magdalene that those around her thought it beneath them to comment and the staff did not want to cause a fuss by upsetting a Carnahan. In her mind she was still as invisible as she was when she was eighteen. She was unbothered as much as she was then, but now it was actually because she stuck out like a Yorkshire pudding in a patisserie.

“High society not worth your time?”

Coming out of the smoking room was a tall gentleman in a blue suit, fine hair moussed back and a cigar between his lips.

“This is not high society. If it were, I’d feel like a bug under a microscope,” Magdalene replied without looking at him, then realised what she had said.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean – it was just, I just.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed, “I understand you didn’t mean it.”

Magdalene bit her lip. “It’s not that you, or anyone here isn’t posh, but I’ve met posher and they’re much more awful than any of you and they manage to make you feel like you’ve just been rolled out of a ditch.”

“Ah,” the smile was still on his face. “I best not try and succeed at anything then, in case I get too posh and start being rude to complete strangers.”

“Oh my God I’m so sorry.”

“I’m teasing you,” he said.

He leaned his back against the wall next to her, side by side in the little alcove, pulling out a silver case and opening it.

“Cigar?” he offered.

“No thank you, I don’t smoke.”

“I would have thought someone would hang around a smoking lounge in order to smoke.”

“It was quieter here than in there.” Magdalene nodded over to the hall where waiters were taking plates away and people were standing around in huddles of conversation.

“Not the social butterfly you made out to be when giving your speech then?”

“Around the right sort of people I am,” She kicked her skirt from under her heel and clasped her hands behind her back.

“And who are the right sort of people for a Carnahan to associate with? Royalty or ruffians?”

Magdalene gave a wry smile and waited for a few men to go past as they entered the smoking lounge before she replied.

“Mummies.”

The man held a finger in the air, “Ah! I should have guessed! You are a true explorer. But I want an honest answer to my question, when the adventure is over, who does Magdalene Carnahan talk to?”

“Are you trying to wheedle your way into my social circle? I don’t even know your name.”

His grin grew mischievous. “If I gave you my name, I would have to use my manners. Doesn’t politeness make you feel like a bug under a microscope?”

“Wise guys,” Magdalene smiled, “that’s my sort of company. A pity you’re not funny and good looking too.”

“Oh!” He clutched his chest mockingly. “The lady wounds me!”

They both laughed and Magdalene asked if she could take a drag off of the thin cigar he was smoking.

“I thought you didn’t smoke? The lady is full of contradictions.”

“I said I don’t smoke. Never said I haven’t smoked at all.”

Magdalene blew twin clouds through her nostrils and watched the smoke waft through the air, picking up the currents of dust and swirling around in the shafts of light from the window panes.

“You remind me of someone,” she said. “A man I met in Chicago who I stayed with for a while. Never knew when to stop talking but so kind. I owe him a lot.”

“Who is he? He sounds very special for such an esteemed woman to owe him a debt.”

“He was a no one, I only stayed with him a month before I moved on.”

The man raised his eyebrows and became serious, “A shame, you speak highly of him. You never kept in touch?”

Magdalene laughed. “No. I didn’t. He died in an armed robbery, I left after his funeral.”

“How tragic.”

“Oh, not for him. He was the robber.”

He smiled broadly, as if to laugh at the joke, but faltered when Magdalene didn’t do the same.

“Not all of us high society lot started out that way,” she said, and handed his cigar back and walked back into the banquet hall.


	2. How do you do?

As always, Jonathan did not arrive until the party was underway and did so with aplomb.

“Evy!” he waved from across the hall and made quick strides towards her, bumping into Magdalene, who had just re-entered. “Maddie, good to see you!”

“Hello Jonathan, causing trouble again?”

“Not yet,” he swung his arm around her, “I’ve only just arrived, fashionably late. Too bad I missed all those pompous speeches.”

“I did a speech Jonathan.”

“…Let’s go annoy Rick.”

“Nice save.”

Rick and Evy were speaking to one of the many portly aged men in the room, and all seemed very happy in each other’s company. Jonathan waltzed up and leant on Evy’s shoulder, interrupting the conversation.

“Lovely to meet you,” Jonathan lurched forward towards the other man but did not remove his arms from Evy and Magdalene and tipped them both with him, just as quickly yanking them backwards with his weight.

Evy introduced them, “Jonathan, Magdalene, this is Professor Wilson.”

“Roger, please,” the man was happy and laughing, clearly a close friend of the O’Connells rather than an academic acquaintance.

“I’ve met Jonathan a few times, not that I expect him to remember when he had the sherry bottle tucked in his arm all evening.” Jonathan had the decency to look sheepish. “Don’t mind old boy! If you hadn’t gotten there first, I would have, and I don’t mind telling you I would have forgotten the whole event not just a passing codger like myself. I don’t remember you at all dear, Rick’s side of the family perhaps?”

“A friend.” Rick said before anyone could accuse him and Magdalene of bearing a resemblance to each other.

Cowed by Ricks remark, Magdalene managed only a mumbled, “Maddie Carnahan”, as they shook hands.

His hands were warm, both of them clasped around Magdalene’s as he shook them vigorously. He had the sort of permanent, open mouthed smile of old men who were always laughing when they spoke – and they were willing to speak, at considerable length – with rosy cheeks to match, but that may have been the champagne.

“Another Carnahan to the brood! I worked very closely with Evy’s father you see, dear – Maddie is it? I thought I knew all the Carnahans. A cousin, perhaps? Kept you locked in a tower for fear you were mad, eh?”

“I’m their sister,” Magdalene smiled sweetly, immediately shining to this warm-handed, happy man.

“Adopted,” Rick said rather abruptly. “Maddie appeared on the scene after I’d already met my wife.”

“Well,” Roger Wilson looked between them all, picking his way through the icy conversation, “marvellous.” He clapped his hands together.

“What’s one darling baby sister when you can have two that run rings around me with their eye’s closed?” Jonathan grinned at Evy, who was trying to smile despite flicking champagne off her hand when Jonathan had knocked her flute.

“How do you know my-ehm, Evy and Rick?” Magdalene asked, hoping the Professor would talk about himself enough to move on from the stilted small talk.

“A member of the Bembridge Scholars,” he said, like he was presenting a war story, “and staunch advocate of the Carnahan legacy. Evy’s father was the best colleague I ever had, and you mother –dear heart – none too daft herself so she was. Used to run circles around _us_ translating hieratic so she did. We’re proud that Evy is continuing on the good fight and adventuring into the past.”

Magdalene stood patiently and silently through the rest of the conversation, and half a dozen others. Her feet ached from standing still, and her back ached from sitting in ornamental chairs that weren’t designed for use. The only constant was that she stuck to Jonathan’s side, watching him drink champagne, then whiskey and later someone brought round glasses of port to end the evening.

“Oh Jonathan, not again,” Evy said in exasperation at the sight of his face, red with drink.

“I’ll take him home and wait for him to sober up,” Magdalene patted Evy on the back reassuringly.

Wandering through the University grounds, Magdalene found the quiet atmosphere more reassuring than the fusty silence of the halls. The breeze that wheedled its way in through the archways and trimmed lawns between buildings carried with it a cleaner smell, more open to change.

“I’ll drive,” Jonathan said from under her arm, pulling open the door of his car.

“No, you absolutely will not,” Magdalene said.

She reached out and tugged him back away from the car, misjudging how far back a drunk Jonathan would lurch, sending them both barrelling into someone behind them who was now pinned to the side of the building

“I’m so sorry!” Magdalene wrapped her arm around Jonathan firmly and squeezed hard to keep him from wafting in the breeze like an overgrown beanpole.

“No harm done.”

The man they had squashed against the wall was the same man she had smoked with earlier.

“Oh, it’s you,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Me,” he was still smiling.

Jonathan piped up, “So sorry old chap, didn’t see you.”

“Not at all,” the man’s voice was warm despite the accident. “It seems Miss Carnahan and I are fated, one to continuously apologise and the other to constantly reassure that no apology is needed.”

Magdalene swallowed a lump in her throat and pulled Jonathan away, with more measured force than before.

“Shall I give you a hand?” The man stepped forward and opened the door to the backseat of the car.

“Thank you,” Magdalene smiled. “It’s fine now, I’ve got it from here. Thank you very much.”

“Yes, thank you for everything, great party. We must meet again sometime,” Jonathan babbled, waving whilst he clambered into the back.

The man shut the door on him and turned to Magdalene, standing a fair bit taller than her at around six foot five.

“You must let me drive the pair of you back home.”

“No!” Magdalene protested. “You mustn’t. I’m fine now. And really, sorry for crashing into you.”

“I didn’t mind, it gave me an excuse to speak to you again. But I cannot let you take care of him by yourself, I insist.”

Magdalene scowled a little at his big eyes and the hand he stretched out towards her. She tried desperately to keep her dismissals polite.

“I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink. Besides I’m sure you need to collect your own car.”

“I came by taxi, but you do have a point. You can drive and I can keep an eye on him in the back seat.”

And with that he rounded the car and got in. He shut the door firmly, with an expectant look on his face staring at Magdalene through the window.

Unsure and a little freaked out, Magdalene got in and pushed down on the choke to start the engine. Jonathan was staring at her a little confused.

“Maddie, why does this taxi look like my car?”

She pulled away over the gravel and rolled slowly onto the road into London.

“You’re a very cautious driver,” The man noted.

Magdalene twisted the steering wheel gradually, taking a very wide bend around the corner. “Apologies if you were hoping for a joy ride.”

Not two minutes later he spoke again, intent on cutting through the muffle of silence.

“What do you have against me?”

“I’ve got nothing against you,” Magdalene said. “I don’t know you.”

“Do you want to know me?”

“I’m not sure, do I want to know the man who insisted on getting in my brother’s car to go to my house?”

“Do you want to get to know the man who finds you interesting and wants to make sure you’re alright?”

“How do you know I’m not alright?”

He shifted and pointed at Jonathan, who was staring out the window. “Because anyone who is willing to take care of that is not alright.”

“He’s my brother not some date, I care about him.”

“Then he’s terrible for putting his sister in that position.”

“Are you trying to make me angry? I could crash the car you know.”

“I’m trying to get you to open up to me.”

“Have you ever heard of small talk?”

“I tried that earlier, you walked away.”

“Are you _flirting with me?_ ”

“Yes.”

Magdalene clamped her mouth shut into a grim line and concentrated on driving.

“Do you not want me to?” he asked more softly.

She suddenly felt guilty, and embarrassed at constantly one-upping him to make herself feel important, _unique_. Embarrassed that she had written him off and used him to entertain herself.

Eventually she replied, “I’d rather you didn’t while I’m driving.”

“Then we shall start over.” His megawatt smile came back. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too. I’m Magdalene Carnahan, my friends call me Maddie,” she took her hand off the wheel to offer it.

He gave her hand a firm, polite shake, “Doctor Henry Evington. How do you do, Miss Carnahan?”

“Maddie,” she corrected, “we’re friends now.”

A snore came from the back seat. Magdalene and Henry looked at each other and giggled.


	3. Sifting through sand

“Tea, coffee or something stronger?” Magdalene asked Henry.

“Coffee.”

Jonathan took his jacket off and was rolling up his shirt-sleeves. “I’ll have a-”

“You’ll have coffee too,” Magdalene interrupted him, and went to the kitchen.

Jonathan had slept just long enough to become coherent, but he was still basking in the heady afterglow of booze. Henry had suggested carrying him up the steps of Magdalene’s Victorian terrace, Magdalene was less inclined to put in the physical effort and woke him with a beep of the horn. He had apologised profusely for falling asleep and had only required a little help climbing out onto the pavement, making ample use of the handrail to manage the steps to the front door.

Coffee cups in hand they sat in the front room, which had not been decorated. The original appeal of the house was that it had been styled by an interior designer whose name Magdalene had forgotten and didn’t care about anyway. Unsure of what it was she wanted to use the house for, she had left it almost untouched, down to the Victorian Imitation-Chinese flower vase that she had never put any flowers in. Her only addition to that particular room was the bookshelf opposite the bay window, and a garish cushion she saw in a shop window, bought with the promise of using it to start filling her new home. It was the end of her decorating attempts.

“Do you read a lot?” Henry asked.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Surprisingly?”

Magdalene shifted on the sofa, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet up underneath the orange and yellow striped cushion.

“I didn’t start learning to read until I was eighteen. I still have a dictionary next to me when I write anything but books have started to become less work and more fun. I’m quite happy sitting at the window in the armchair and working through a new story.”

“Maddie’s come a long way,” Jonathan looked proud, “now she won’t stop talking about any new novel that makes it onto the bestseller’s list.”

“Drink your coffee, Jonathan.”

“Yes, mum.”

“What is it you are a doctor of, Henry?” she asked.

“Medicine.”

“Oh, I thought that you were a PhD sort of doctor. Why were you at the function?”

Henry drained his cup and set it down. “Because I’m a board member for AMC. I wanted to know what they were planning on doing with our money, and get a head start on the next meeting.”

Magdalene vaguely remembered someone speaking about the Andrew Matthew’s Charity.

“You work with sick kids at the AMC, don’t you?”

“We fund clinics in low income areas, yes.”

“Oh, I heard about you,” Jonathan leaned towards Henry with something approaching recognition. “You were in the paper doing something in Ghana, what was it – wells?”

“Not me personally but yes a group of trainee nurses took a trip out there. They were helping treat children with infections from the poor water they drink. No wells though.”

Henry was beginning to lose his air, appearing genuinely relaxed, and it was the closest to human Magdalene had seen him.

“Yes that’s it, a proper do-gooder, bravo.” Jonathan pointed at Magdalene. “You could take him up as your new role model.”

Henry looked at Jonathan questioningly.

“Magdalene is determined to become a respectable member of the public, like her sister. Although I’m not sure that Evy is as refined as Maddie thinks she is. What with the grave-robbing and desecration of sacred tombs-”

 _“Grave robbing?”_ Henry laughed.

“Evy is an archaeologist,” Magdalene said. “And my brother doesn’t seem to approve of me growing up, which I take umbrage at.”

“You’re not growing up, you’re growing old!”

Magdalene winced and regretted waking Jonathan up.

“Remember what it was like in Egypt, Maddie? We couldn’t stop you! Car chase, fights, you almost drank Rick under the table. And woe betide those who would dare to get in your way, swinging about like Tarzan, shouting your _head off!_ ”

Magdalene threw the cushion at him to stop the yelling, watched it bounce off his curls.

“Now this is a Miss Carnahan I am most intrigued to hear about,” Henry said, sitting forward in his chair. “You have been holding out on me. I _am_ glad to have made your acquaintance.”

Jonathan snorted. “She _was_ a ruffian. She still would be if she stopped idolizing the dull life.”

“I agree, I think she should be more like her brother.”

Magdalene had by this point given up on trying to control the conversation, and moved to stand behind the armchair Henry was lounging in, staring out the window at the pavement below. It was a sensible place to live, the rain would bounce off the road and drain away into the ample, clean, storm drains. Neat, well-kept signs reminding the cars which way to go down the one-way street. Prams would be pushed by young mothers, or nurses from the richer houses up the hill if they were permitted to take their employer’s darling that far into town for a constitutional. A sensible, quiet, feminine street.

“…obviously in men’s clothes she stuck out like a sore thumb. All the women assume she’s lost her wardrobe like Evy, and start pulling off this brown, dusty button-down shirt she was wearing. Maddie was practically _feral_ back then, we’d only just met her, and she _hisses_ at them like an alley cat. Damn near scratched their eyes out! And you should have seen the way she beat up this woman with a chain-whip and a set of brass knuckles.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, but this was years later, after she’d had some training in fisticuffs from yours truly,” Jonathan shadow boxed the air between him and Henry, “and that time we were chased by plague victims, throwing them off us as I drove the car. I dropped a sarcophagus on her once by accident.”

Jonathan had started spouting whichever thought popped to the front of his mind first.

“That’s ancient history Jonathan, bring yourself back _in_ the room,” Magdalene said, with the accompanying hand gesture.

He pouted from his half-slouched position in the corner of the sofa. “You’re no fun anymore.” His face lit up. “We should go back!”

Magdalene was bemused. “Back in time?”

“No, back to Egypt! Where I can knock the ruffian back into you. A celebration!”

“Celebrating what?”

“You! And, and you should come as well.” Jonathan pointed at Henry. “Yes, an excursion for us all, and we can show you what Magdalene used to be like.”

“Why not?” Henry wasn’t taking him seriously.

Magdalene put a warning hand on his shoulder. “Don’t agree to anything. He may be tipsy but he will remember it.”

“We’ll go to Cairo, show Henry all the old haunts. It’ll be a jolly good time. We could even bring Evy along to show us a few mummies.”

“It sounds fantastic! What better way to bond with new friends? One of my professors now teaches in a university over there, I’m sure he could recommend a hotel that does discounts for doctors and medical students.”

Magdalene dropped her face into her hand. “Oh, he’s _definitely_ going to remember that,” she muttered.

“Good man!” Jonathan was almost sobered-up with excitement. “Oh Maddie, we have to, if not for our generous friend here but for old times, before you start getting grey hairs and crocheting shawls for the needy.”

“I’ve been to Egypt before. I was a medic with the RAF and did my basic training there before I went to university. I know some old soldier’s haunts,” Henry continued, and Magdalene started to believe he was taking this more seriously than he let on. “I might show you a thing or two instead.”

“I like you.” Jonathan winked.

Then Henry started saying he could take a month or two off over the summer so long as he did some work for the AMC and Magdalene shut the living room door on them to sulk in the kitchen.

It was hard not wanting to join in with everyone. Magdalene felt guilty for putting a dampener on things all the time, and terrible for forcing herself to pretend she was happy to be involved.

“Everything okay?”

She looked up to see Henry in the doorway.

“Yes, have you two planned your honeymoon yet?” She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Clever. Was everything he said true? About you.”

Magdalene pushed herself of the counter she was leaning against with a tired sigh. “You never said you were a doctor.”

“You said you felt like a bug under a microscope,” he retorted.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Magdalene narrowed her eyes. “You invited yourself into my house.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I’m very polite.”

“No you’re not, you hate being polite.”

Henry stepped closer and Magdalene leaned in to accept the challenge.

“How would you know?”

“You told me a story of how one of your friends died ten minutes into meeting me.”

“I knew you were a wise-guy.”

He grinned, “You’re more fun than you let on.”

“You’re more _boring_.”

“Boring people don’t want to go to Egypt, I want to go to Egypt.”

“You don’t want to go to Egypt, you just want to get in my knickers.”

“Or maybe get to know a beautiful woman.”

Magdalene sighed and dropped back down.

“Why is it you can flirt with me but I can’t flirt back?”

She studied him suspiciously. “Let me ask you something. Are you actually interested in me or are you flirting with me for the sake of flirting.” Henry opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. “You have to tell me the truth. We’re friends now.”

His eyes became very kind, creased and smiling around the edges. Gentle, if it weren’t for his dark irises, sparkling with something more calculating.

“Flirting for flirting’s sake,” he admitted. “I have a fiancé in Kent. I’m feeling a little tied down at the minute with her, and being expected to further my career. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” there was no trace of disappointment or betrayal in Magdalene’s voice. “If you’re not actually interested in getting anything from me, there’s no consequences if I flirt back a little.”

“It actually sounds pretty awful now I’ve said it out loud. Is there somewhere I can smoke and clear my head?”

Magdalene led him through to the basement, checking on Jonathan as she walked past – sound asleep again. The house was on a slope, so at the back of the basement there were windows put in the wall and even a back door set in a teeny alcove where Magdalene kept her shoes. There was little of note outside, a patch of garden with bushes that she let run wild, no grass.

It had, in fact, originally been a lounge, modelled as some sort of reception room for closer friends or perhaps even a smoking den, which is why she took Henry there. It was less formal and ‘cultivated’ than the sitting room upstairs, which was designed for receiving regular guests. The purpose of the basement room was comfort.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been convinced you actually live here,” Henry said as he lit a cigar.

“Why’s that?” Magdalene asked.

Henry waited to reply whilst Magdalene poured two glasses of scotch from a bottle kept in the cupboard. He nodded as she passed him a glass and raised it in salute before sipping it. Magdalene settled into one of the twin leather chairs and looked at him.

“No offense, Maddie. Your house looks like a showroom.”

“None taken.”

“ _Do_ you live here?”

She couldn’t bring herself to laugh at the joke, took a drink to cover it up. It was much quieter here than it had been upstairs. It made it harder to stop herself from filling the gaps in conversation with chatter.

“You ask a lot of questions you know,” she chuckled, but it sounded strained. “I’m not sure I can keep track of them all. And I know very little about you.”

“We’re friends. You said it yourself. And new friends are sometimes easier to talk to than people you've known for years.” He let go of a puff of smoke. “Who is it?”

“Who’s who?”

“The man you keep thinking of when I flirt with you?”

Magdalene was very still, and didn’t look at him while she spoke.

“Someone in Egypt. Someone who I haven’t completely broken ties with, not that there was anything definitive to hold on to. We were…it was when we were with him that…” she tailed off and downed the rest of her whisky.

Henry gave her an encouraging nod, letting her know he was listening, but it didn’t matter to him what she said. They were friends, they’d made this contract. He was right, agreeing to be so open with a stranger who promised not to judge, it was liberating.

“I met him in Egypt, the same time I met Evy and Jonathan.”

“You met your siblings?”

“Adopted,” she said with a look. “I was eighteen when I met them all. I was a tramp, literally I mean. I’d spent several years in America travelling with one band of hobos or other. I went to Egypt just because I saw an advertisement for holidays in Cairo.

“They were on their way to a dig, looking for a lost city. I tagged along and that’s when I met him. I was barely an adult and he was…so compelling. We had a good few adventures, but he had his way of life and I had mine. When we saw him again it was under similar circumstances but I was older and I thought there could finally be something else. Evy had taught me to read and I was studying and I felt more, more mature and capable. More his equal.

“I was battling a lot while we were there. I was struggling to feel like I was a genuine part of this family and I was full of aggression, pulled so many different ways. I guess I was going through what most people get over at a younger age and with their parents, I still wasn’t as grown up as I should have been. But he stuck by me, took my side. We were together for a while, happy just being around each other when there was nothing else going on.

“When I came back to England,” she shrugged, “I knew he was different, and I knew he had obligations but when that first letter came it read like there was never anything in the first place. And when one letter after another was the same, I realised that neither of us had changed our lifestyles. Neither one of us was in a position to let the other in, to make compromises, to change who we were for the other. We loved each other but we were indifferent to each other’s way of life.”

Henry sat down in the second chair, occasionally puffing at his cigar but so far silent.

“I left Egypt behind for good. I couldn’t stay, and for the same reason, he couldn’t leave. There are…things…there that I can’t go back to, things that I’m never going to be convinced are dead and buried.”

“All of this I understand,” Henry said. “Where in this story does your unlived-in house fit?”

“What we had, me and him, it happened in interesting circumstances. It was like a bubble, that life and this one. I wanted to finally grow up, to be normal. When I realised I’d lost what we had, it made it simpler to decide who that grown up was. I cut out that part of me from Egypt, and here I am. In a sensible, tasteful house, with a small stipend from my charity work and no need of financial support. I’m a sensible, single woman who keeps to herself and spends her weekends in the library keeping up with boring studies.”

“You’ve sacrificed everything in order to become boring and miserable?”

“I would be miserable anyway.”

Magdalene pressed her fingers to the corner of her eye, and when she took them away they were wet.

The pair sat in silence, Magdalene did not want to say any more, and Henry seemed content sipping his whisky and looking out of the window, where anonymous legs passed by on the street above them. It had not been the afternoon Magdalene was expecting, though she was thankful it turned out this way. Now she had confided in someone, it seemed ridiculous how long she had let her emotions fester.

“I think you should go to Egypt again.”

Magdalene stared at Henry, the only visible sign she was unhappy at the suggestion was a slight tightening of the muscles around her mouth.

“You have a lot of unfinished business, and maybe a part of yourself you left behind.”

“That’s an awful lot of sand to sift through,” she said in an amused, breathy exhale.

“Your brother and I could help,” he shrugged, “and I’ve been dying for a holiday.”


	4. Chocolate Pudding

It took a further week to cajole Magdalene into agreeing to the trip. Jonathan, claiming he was worried she was getting lonely, spent the next few days with her. It was after some nagging that Magdalene got him to admit he was enjoying her company and taking advantage of consistent hearty meals.

It happened when he took her out for dinner, a thank you and a night off from washing dirty pans, that she genuinely opened up. He took her to a small place with chandeliers dotted in the ceiling. The steak Jonathan ordered after the soup course was "just marvellous" and he insisted Magdalene try it. It was only fair, after all, she ordered the salad and this was why he was worried in the first place. Since when did she eat salad?

“I don’t want you spending a lot on dinner, that’s all,” she said.

Jonathan put his fork down. “Maddie, I love you and I want to treat you to a night out. I’m ordering dessert.”

He beckoned over a waiter and asked them for something that sounded horrifically sweet and fattening.

“This is what I brought you here for,” he said conspiratorially before finishing his wine. “They are famous for their truffle chocolate cake with real gold leaf.”

The dessert was huge, they were each presented with a large soufflé ramakin barely big enough to fit a mountain of gooey, soft sponge, swirls of cream and chunks of biscuit covered in sauce and flecks of gold foil. Magdalene stared at it but kept her hands by her sides.

“Maddie can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrow, “Do you feel comfortable in a place like this?”

Maddie looked around at the various discrete waiters in black tie, stood in half shadow until they were needed. And they instinctively knew whenever they were needed, like creepy telepathic ghosts. The other diners looked so comfortable they could have owned the place. No, she didn’t belong here, but she wanted to. Squeezed into a dress with frill cuffs that pinched her wrists and dragged into her food, the same on her neck. It was like women’s clothes were designed to make eating an uncomfortable experience. Every time Magdalene swallowed she felt the collar dig into her throat.

Her existence embodied the phrase, ‘You can’t polish a turd but you can roll it in glitter’.

The wine, the force of Jonathan’s unusually serious gaze, and the mounting misery she had been feeling for months sent two tears rolling down her cheek.

“No,” she whispered into her lap.

“When was the last time you actually did feel comfortable, Maddie?”

She shrugged.

“Would the old you feel comfortable here?” This question made her frown. Obviously not…but it sounded like Jonathan was searching for a specific answer. “Yes. Because the old you would have delighted in making herself at home and making everyone else feel uncomfortable just to prove a point.”

Magdalene laughed and brushed away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

Jonathan waggled his dessert fork at her chocolate pudding, “And the old you would have inhaled that whilst getting half of it around her mouth.”

Magdalene dug in and finished the lot.

* * *

Ardeth was in Luxor, once the ancient city of Thebes, when Magdalene sent a letter letting him know she was planning on visiting over the early spring, with Jonathan and a friend of theirs. The letter was forwarded from Cairo, courtesy of Hamed, and was very brief;

_Dear Ardeth,_

_Jonathan and I are planning a trip to Egypt in two months’ time. I am writing to let you know, it would be an opportunity to catch up, we have heard so little from you. And to warn you in case our arrival brings about a third apocalypse,_

_Write back if you want._

_From,_

_Maddie._

Ardeth noted that Magdalene’s writing had become a lot more cursive and confident, there were a few corrections and blotches where she’d paused half-way and her pen had blotted the paper as it leaked. But her first letters were all printed in capitals, riddled with spelling mistakes, spiky and smudged where she pressed too hard with the pen.

Now, it was elegant, with looping sentences and a proper signature, but terse and less animated than the letters she used to write. Sometimes she would write lists of random words underneath her goodbyes, to show him what new words she had learnt that were particularly interesting, difficult or she found funny. And she would never write ‘From,’ when signing off. It was always ‘Yours’.

He tapped the letter against his chin. He knew part of the problem was his subconscious decision that if he didn’t write to Magdalene, she couldn’t be disappointed with what he said. He led the tribes of the Medjai, he kept Egypt safe and hunted down treasure seekers. In the two years since they destroyed the Army of Anubis there had been an echo that called the corrupt and dark gods out of their shadows. Several tribes of bandits swarmed the deserts and his people constantly fought off sickness and a poor harvest. The whole of Egypt was afflicted with poor luck, not just the Medjai. Everyone was at risk.

Then there was his relationship with Magdalene. His affection for her was still there, but it was impossible to see her as a part of this life, and it was impossible for him to consider living any other way.

Ardeth had intentionally distanced himself from Magdalene to avoid complications. And with her a continent away it made so much sense, it was impractical to try to initiate a romance from that distance. And unfair to them both, drawing out the affection through letters, they would stagnate, become bored with the lack of momentum and fall out of love with each other. Ardeth would not cause her that misery, or himself.

But now she was coming back, and wanted to see him, and suddenly he was confronted with a problem he never realised he would have to face.

* * *

“You’re not serious?”

“Yes, I am,” Magdalene said to Rick, stood in his garden.

“You’re going on holiday, with Jonathan and a doctor you met once, for a month?” He asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“Alright, whatever.”

Rick pulled the bolt on his rifle and the spent casing dropped onto the grass below. He loaded a new bullet and took aim at the target, which was a scarecrow wrapped in bandages and dangling from a tree. Magdalene put her fingers in her ears as he fired.

“That is the most macabre thing I’ve ever seen,” Magdalene commented, watching the rope stringing up the scarecrow fray and twist. Rick grunted in satisfaction as the ‘mummy’ dropped onto the metal spikes sticking out of the ground.

Rick gave her a look, "No, it’s not.”

“I don’t ever remember skewering someone on spikes for fun like Vlad the Impaler.”

“Well if you had impaled a mummy instead of flirting with it then I wouldn’t be preparing for the _next_ time it comes back to life.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this argument again.”

“It’s not an argument, you just like turning it into one.”

Magdalene began walking up the hill towards the mansion where Jonathan and Evy were drinking lemonade on the patio. She had only left to let Rick know what their plans were before they set off.

Every time she had visited them for the past two years, Rick always brought up her visions, how she had kept them a secret. In his mind, she had been gifted multiple opportunities to kill Imhotep before he got to Ahm Shere, but she didn’t and his son’s life had been endangered because of her.

“He’s not coming back Rick, he’s dead. He had an entire pyramid collapse on him and bury him in the sand. He was mortal and powerless, he couldn’t protect himself from being sucked into the underworld by Anubis and now he’s rotting in whatever hell there is.”

“So said us the last time we killed him, and three thousand years ago when the Pharaohs killed him,” Rick stopped her underneath a sycamore tree.

“Yeah, well third time’s a charm.”

“You’re seriously going back to Egypt on holiday? Are you insane? You do nothing but paperwork and socialise, you gave up being remotely useful for some sort of quiet life. If that mummy comes back, or hell if you get pickpocketed, you’re screwed.”

Magdalene drew her dagger out of her handbag and threw it into the branches of the tree. It landed blade first into the soil between their feet, followed gently by three spinning pairs of sycamore seeds, twirling in the wind.

She picked the knife up and jammed it into the trunk of the tree before walking away.


	5. Warm Reception

They were travelling by plane, a day-long flight across Europe, then hopping from Athens to Alexandria to Cairo. When Henry met them at the airport, he seemed unfazed by the dramatics of it all, showing them around and greeting the women who took their tickets like they were personal friends, they all smiled back and flirted. Magdalene asked if he knew them and he said no, it was expected that the staff should be familiar with you and make you comfortable. The two pilots, both captains, greeted them before they stepped onto the plane. A man in a sharp suit showed them to their seats and during the flight poured them all coffee with astounding surety despite rocking about in a metal tube at two-hundred miles an hour.

It took them two hours to reach Paris where they changed to a sleeper plane. This was what Magdalene was most nervous about. The staff were just as well dressed but the creature-comforts were not as splendid in this plane, as they swapped tables for a series of bunkbeds at the back of the plane to house the eleven passengers. Something in the smiles of the stewards told Magdalene the beds were there more as a semblance of the daily cycle and it would be a miracle if any passengers ever slept. An amenity to pander to the rich and their insistence that nothing, not even being several thousand miles up in the air, would compromise their daily schedule.

The sky turned dusk and the three of them ‘turned in’ somewhere over Italy. Jonathan had managed a deep enough sleep that his snore competed with the rattling of the bedframes. Magdalene and Henry stayed awake, whispering to each other until they touched down to refuel in Greece.

For the first time, Magdalene agreed with Ardeth’s firm motto that people should keep their feet on the ground.

Eventually, the strain of travel and her body’s exhaustion under constant adrenaline sent Magdalene into some sort of rest, where she was capable of hearing everything around her but she was damned if she was capable of moving a limb, or even opening her eyes.

A nice French steward gently shook her into consciousness about twenty minutes before they reached Cairo airport, she had completely missed their stop in Alexandria to drop off a few of the other passengers. Magdalene met solid ground with bags under her eyes and a bird’s nest of hair, but very happy to be alive.

“What shall we do first then?” Jonathan asked, with sparkling eyes and bouncing with energy.

“Sleep,” Magdalene moaned from underneath the arm of Henry she had slung around her in the back of the taxi.

“You can’t go to sleep. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning!” Jonathan protested.

“Says the man who got eight hours,” Henry chuckled.

Henry had handed a slip of paper to the driver with the address of their hotel, and when they drove up Jonathan and Magdalene went pale at the sight of a familiar building.

“Uh I didn’t know your ‘hotel’ was the old consulate fort, Henry.”

“This is where most of the high-ups get stationed when they come over on prolonged business. Have you stayed here yourself?”

“We’ve…been here before,” she said.

“Yes,” Jonathan added, “and it’s bringing up some bad memories of some very unsavory events.”

Magdalene hopped out of the car and slammed the rear passenger door. “You wanted me to re-live my past, Jonathan. Might as well go all in.”

Jonathan stood next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry mum, I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

“All your ideas are bad ideas,” Magdalene side-eyed him. “But this one is full of cruel fate too.”

They hugged each other and took in the façade of the building, pretty columns and functional terraces. Henry gazed at the pair, bemused, as he took their bags out of the boot of the car and helped the taxi-driver pull their trunks off the roof.

He approached, slightly wary of interrupting, and asked, “Shall we unpack and take it from there?”

They made it up the steps and were greeted by the manager who had been expecting their arrival and had several bellhops on standby.

“When we recognised Mr Evington’s guests were Mr and Miss Carnahan, we took the courtesy of booking you into your usual suites,” he said whilst they took their keys.

“Of course,” Magdalene looked wryly at Jonathan.

“Karim will take you through.”

A man in a tailor-cut concierge suit walked into the lobby with his arms spread out.

“Jonathan! Good to see you!” He enveloped Jonathan in a bear hug which was received by the much smaller man with equal gusto. Eventually Jonathan had to wriggle out for air.

“Yes, good to see you too Karim! You’ve been keeping well.”

“Not as well now we never see you or your sister and her husband! We have missed you!”

“Evy used to keep rooms here, she used to live in Cairo and work for the Curator and having a suite in the British consulate building is always handy. It's been the base for British legionnaires ever since the Great War,” Magdalene explained to Henry. “But now, in peace time, rooms are available for those on extended business trips.”

Henry’s mouth was ever-so-slightly agape. “Here I am, trying to impress you two and you’ve done it all before.”

_“Magdalene,”_ Karim called and hugged her like he had done her brother.

“Nice to see you again, Karim.”

“Where is it that you have been staying when you are in Egypt then, hmm? You can tell me who poached my favourite Englishmen on our way, I’ll take you to your rooms.”

Several porters picked up the garment bags and trunks the three of them couldn’t carry themselves and traipsed behind the party.

“We haven’t been in Egypt for over two years.”

Karim put a hand over his heart, “The saddest news I have _ever_ heard.”

Magdalene laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You can’t blame a man for trying. Besides, I like seeing your brother’s face when he gets his room bill. It is the highlight of my job.”

Karim opened the door to Magdalene’s room first, and she told the boys to meet her downstairs in the bar for a drink once she’d finished unpacking. Closing the door behind her, she looked around the small living space, with writing desk, piano and breakfast table, entrance to the bedroom on the wall opposite her. She sighed deeply and decided opening the shutters might make her forget everything this room had seen.


	6. Arrivals

_“Jonathan, are you kidding me!”_

“That didn’t sound like an actual question.”

Jonathan put his shot of whiskey on the table and turned around in his chair. His sister was stomping into the bar with a look that could have been anger or constipation, red-faced and jaw clenched.

She made her way towards him and Henry, when Jonathan squeaked and hid behind the table.

“What did he do?” Henry asked.

Magdalene pointed her finger. “ _He_ swapped out all of my best dresses for trousers and shirts!”

“In my defence,” Jonathan popped up far enough to point a finger back at her, “I didn’t know our stay here would be quite so on the nose at the time.”

“Henry was going to take me to his alma matter’s sister medical college for a tour of their paediatric ward and a lecture on genetic predisposition to immunocompromising diseases amongst toddlers in Eastern countries.”

“I didn’t understand the last half of that.”

“How am I supposed to accompany him wearing handsewn linen slacks?”

Henry piped up, “Actually they probably wouldn’t notice. It doesn’t matter if they have a medical degree or a PhD, if they’re a doctor they usually don’t know if they ate lunch.”

At the interruption, Magdalene’s flow of justified rage was broken and she stopped talking. She noticed the attention their squabbling had garnered and sat down, pursing her lips and fixing her hair.

“Sorry,” she said. “I got a bit carried away.”

“Blame it on the journey.” Jonathan sat back in his chair still looking a little wary.

“It is an inconvenience, Jonathan.”

“I was trying to get you back in the spirit of being _you_ ,” he punched her lightly on the shoulder, “rough and tumble and all that.”

“Right,” Henry said, motioning for three new drinks. “I have been completely bemused ever since we got here. I want the pair of you to tell me exactly what happened and why it’s got you both on edge. Start from the beginning and don’t stop until you reach the present day.”

The siblings gave each other a look.

“Henry,” Jonathan said, “do you believe in myths?”

* * *

“Mummies,” he said at last.

“Yes, mummies,” Magdalene nodded, then spoke to Jonathan, “He thinks we’re crazy now, watch him tell us we’re insane.”

“Or that we made it up.” Jonathan raised his near-empty glass of bourbon and clinked it against Magdalene’s before downing the remnants. Magdalene followed suit and slid both glasses into the centre of the table, where a hovering waiter then picked them up and replaced them.

Magdalene nodded for Henry to drink them. He downed the first one and picked up the second, cradling it to his chest after taking a single sip.

“You don’t believe us, do you?” Jonathan smirked.

“No, I don’t. But you seemed very rational while you were speaking. And I can see how that would, er, put…put a dampener on coming back to Egypt.”

“I think he’s going into shock,” Magdalene said in a slightly amused tone.

“No,” Henry put the drink down then picked it back up. “No, I’m not I’m just, processing.”

“Processing,” Magdalene mouthed at Jonathan.

“Well you can process and walk at the same time.” Jonathan got up. “We’ve got all of Egypt to see and we can start at this antique dealer’s I told you about on the plane. He says he has some fine pieces from a dig in Alexandria that would fetch quite a bit in London.”

“A walk sounds great.”

They headed out into the late afternoon sun, Magdalene with a wide-brimmed peach hat to stop her face from burning.

“Perhaps later we could visit the Museum of Antiquities,” she suggested. “Evy used to work there and I know the curator. He might be able to convince you of our little tale.”

“I highly doubt it.” Henry was stood with his hands over his eyes, searching for the source of the crowd that was pouring in, away from the main road.

Over the top of the chatter of everyone migrating off the dirt tracks and onto the paved streets, an echo bounced off the walls of the buildings. Hoofbeats, and many of them.

Three dozen Medjai rode up at a canter, spilling out into the hotel courtyard in front of Ardeth who rode through from the back of the group. The other Medjai split to let him through, his horse snorting with effort. He jumped off and stuck his scimitar in the ground, tying his horse’s reigns to the handle.

“Who is _that_?” Henry gaped.

“ _That,_ ” Magdalene smirked from beneath her sun-hat, “would be the complication I never quite got over.”

“Now I know why my flirting didn’t work,” he muttered.

“Ardeth, old chum, glad you could make it!” Jonathan waved.

Ardeth walked over, the wind sending his robes out behind him and his hair covering half his face. He slowed to a halt a few feet away and gave a semi bow.

“It is good to see you too.” He locked eyes with Magdalene and opened his arms. “Magdalene. How are you?”

Magdalene stepped forward and they embraced, but they each noticed how cordial it was. “Ardeth, hello. I’m well, thank you.”

Ardeth held her at arm’s length and took her in, a disappointed frown wrinkling his brow. “You look very different.”

Magdalene was a little taken aback at his boldness, they hadn’t spoken in over a year. “You don’t. Was it necessary to bring a full embassy of tribal leaders or are you just going all out for the welcome party?”

“I have business in Cairo, though I am hoping to spend time with all of you as well, and meet your new friend.”

Ardeth was looking at Henry, who had yet to recover from the dramatic entrance of the Medjai. Magdalene linked arms with him and pressed herself close to his side. Henry immediately noticed the close contact and put an arm around her shoulders to ask if she was alright.

“Henry this is Ardeth Bay. Ardeth, Doctor Henry Evington, he’s here with us for the trip.”

“A financier for your visit?” Ardeth asked, with mild surprise. “You’ve always preferred the freedom of working under your own steam.”

“Well,” Henry smiled humbly, “I certainly offered to pay the tickets, and the hotel was my contribution in the first place but I wouldn’t say _financed-_ ”

“Henry’s not funding an archaeological dig,” Magdalene interjected, “we’re only here on holiday. He’s a friend.”

At the word ‘friend’, Ardeth’s eyebrows lowered, a flinty look in his eyes.

“I see, in any case it is good to see you again, Magdalene.”

Jonathan clapped Ardeth on the shoulder, “Yes, we’re here to relive the good old days, and celebrate Maddie. She’s near single-handedly run a charity in London and needs a proper rest.”

“Rest?” Ardeth made eye-contact with Magdalene. “That is not something we see much of whenever you Carnahans are here.”

Magdalene rolled her eyes. “It’s the O’Connells that take trouble with them everywhere. Us two second-rate siblings are perfectly safe.”


	7. Those who do not try

Ardeth asked to join their walk through the city, and told the senior tribesmen that he would find them later. The four took a stroll through the main streets, where there were plenty of foreign faces like their own, British, French, American, and everyone gave each other a respectfully wide berth.

Magdalene spent most of her time chatting with Henry, and taking in the architecture. They kept behind Ardeth, wo was updating Jonathan on everything that had gone on since the Oasis of Ahm Shere; the Cult of Imhotep had completely vanished, there was no sign of the creature at all. The Medjai still kept watch, but they were more concerned about warding off outsiders than defending against the evil under the sands. There had been a renewed interest in Egyptian artifacts across the globe, and a renewed political interest in land disputes. Several military divisions were circling - under orders to keep the peace, but it felt like a noose tightening around the deserts Ardeth called home.

“Now I see why you’ve never gotten over him,” Henry whispered.

Magdalene smiled and tightened her arm around the crook of his elbow.

He bent down even closer to her ear, “Feel free to use me _shamelessly_ to make him jealous. I’m more than up for it.”

She laughed, which caught Ardeth’s attention. He looked back just in time to see her peck Henry on the cheek and say, “That’s why you’re already my best friend.”

Henry looked straight ahead and beamed, “Darling, as far as I’m aware, I’m your only friend.”

* * *

Ardeth had more than noticed the closeness of the two. Apparently, they had known each other a matter of weeks and hit it off so well they had spent time with each other almost every day. Jonathan had told the story of how they all met, and after that said Doctor Evington had occasionally stayed the night.

Ardeth had too much self-control to be jealous, the Magdalene he saw now was nothing like her old self, and her excessive closeness with the doctor resembled nothing like the way she was with him. When she was with him she had been passionate, half-feral, committed. This was different, breezy, coy and unassuming.

That was not how he remembered her…

_He swung his scimitar lazily, flipping it into a swooping arch that caught the moonlight and dazzled her vision._

_“This is entirely unfair,” Magdalene complained. “How am I supposed to defend myself against a sword?”_

_“A good warrior does not need a weapon to defend himself – or herself.” Ardeth caught her pointed look._

_“Can you at least stop waving it around, it’s flashing in my eyes.”_

_Magdalene put her hands up to block out the glint of metal and that’s when Ardeth thrust in and used the flat of the blade against her waist to tip her onto the sand._

_“That was the point,” He grinned, and watched her get back to her feet with a sulky expression. “Go again?”_

_“I’m not playing if you’re going to be sneaky!”_

_Ardeth straightened up. “We are not playing a game. You must have more patience, when you get angry you lose focus. An eight-year-old could beat you.”_

_“Fine.”_

_Magdalene widened her feet apart and waited for Ardeth to approach her again. This time he raised his arm high to strike her with the hilt of his scimitar. She moved quickly but he still caught her on the shoulder. Magdalene was thrown but managed to pull at his other arm and drag him with her._

_They rolled, kicking up sand, and when they stopped Ardeth was on top and went to punch her in the face. She slammed the heel of her palm into the arm that was holding him upright, knocking his support and standing back up. This was the longest she’d lasted against him so far._

_She reached down and threw a handful of sand in his eyes before charging like a bull, head down connecting with his ribcage._

_Ardeth was winded, and Magdalene’s brain was now rattling around her skull. They lay there, him rubbing sand out of his eyelashes and her panting for breath._

_“Well done,” Ardeth said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”_

_“Neither was I.”_

_They laughed, and the sounds around them re-entered their world. Medjai around a huge campfire, spending the night close to the city while they recuperated and organised their resources after the battle. Evy and Rick were off to the side, playing with Alex, whilst Jonathan furiously polished his diamond._

_“So,” Magdalene gasped, “am I good enough to sign up?”_

_Ardeth smiled with his large mahogany eyes, reflecting the light off the fire. “Stick to raising evil. I’ll fight it off for you.”_

_“Oi!” she giggled, then leaned in to kiss him._

_It was short and chaste. Ardeth felt like she was holding back out of respect for him when witnessed by nearly all the men from the twelve Medjai tribes. He stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek, feeling her smooth skin under his own. Her tongue danced out to wet her lower lip._

_“What will you do back home?” he asked._

_Magdalene gazed at his tattoos whilst she responded, “I’m not sure. If Evy wants to make any more archaeological finds I’ll go with her. If not, settle down and become a proper member of society.”_

_“That I find hard to imagine.”_

_“What do you think I’ll end up doing, then?” she teased._

_“Something dangerous and impulsive.”_

He got the sense Magdalene was trying to prove him wrong.

They walked quite a way. Those who knew who he was from his tattoos and the markings on his clothes kept their eyes downwards. The Medjai had been forced to show a larger presence ever since Imhotep was resurrected the first time, over a decade ago. The mysterious tribes of the desert were talked about more and more, feared for the violence that happened around them.

Eventually, they reached the river and the breeze picked up, Magdalene’s skirt ruffling. She was so different. Stiffer, her body focused inwards and hyper aware of her expressions. She lost the spark that had Ardeth intrigued by her in the first place…

_“You’re gonna need to pick up the rest of your crew.” Magdalene spoke up, sheathing her dagger. “This is yours too I believe.” She picked up the rifle she had taken from the first of the gunmen and threw it at him. She walked up behind Rick who was still holding out the stick of dynamite._

_He caught the rifle one handed, tossing it to a fellow desert warrior._

_“What of my men?” He looked at her questioningly and she pointed at a pile of men, there must have been five or six of them, all unconscious, in a heap. A final one flopped out from behind a wall and rolled down a sand bank._

_“You did this?” He asked._

_She_ _shifted all her weight onto one foot and shrugged at him. “Beats killing them, doesn’t it?”_

Magdalene used to be impulsive, reckless and untameable. Ardeth saw it wasn’t sadness in the back of her eyes, it was captivity. He was determined to bring her back and free her.

When they turned back, Henry pointed out some of the academic buildings, and walked ahead of everyone to assume a guiding position. Ardeth sidled forward to walk next to Magdalene.

“I did not realise you were not here on business, I apologise. I would have come ahead of my tribes, alone.”

“That’s okay.” Magdalene looked up and smiled, “It’s just nice to see you.”

“It is nice to see you too, you are just as beautiful as before.”

Ardeth saw her cheeks flush the same peach as her sunhat.

“Magdalene-”

“Let’s not get into it. We’re better off leaving alone,” she said, reticently.

Ardeth took a hold of her elbow, “I care very much about you.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“You are better off choosing your own life than following mine. Would you have stayed if I asked?”

Her silence hung between them.

“I have thought of you fondly for two years,” he said, “but it was easier for you if I did not pursue you from so far away. It would have only been difficult for the both of us. I could not tie you down with dreams and expectations.”

Magdalene swallowed and let out a half chuckle, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with the heel of her thumb.

“I never realised.”

Ardeth put her arm through his – the way he had seen Henry do. They finished the walk in silent comfort.

“Oh, we have to stop off at the Museum,” Magdalene begged. “I promised Hamed I would see him as soon as possible.”

Jonathan swung round to look at her. “Oh, that little brat’s still around is he?”

“He’s not a brat anymore Jonathan,” she said, “he’s twenty-one.”

He was also six foot three, making him two inches taller than Magdalene. He was even a smidge taller than Ardeth.

“Hello!” Hamed greeted them all with warm hugs when they knocked on his office door.

Hamed was a valued member of the Medjai. He had joined them at the age of ten, after Magdalene insisted he should be looked after instead of left to wander the streets. He had grown up with an ardent love of mythology, and had taken up position as the curator of the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo. He was studying in the hopes of gaining a doctorate in Forensic Anthropology.

His skills specific to the Medjai were correspondence with authorities on Ancient Egypt, integrating with those interested in historical finds. He could then pick out any artifacts dangerous to human-kind, or report to the Medjai if he learnt of someone attempting to conjure up apocalyptic creatures.

Most of the time, he was a massive nerd.

“We’ve refurbished the entire library, and the sarcophagi are now open to the public to help fund research into studying the mummies for how they might have lived prior to death.”

He was pulling Magdalene through by her hand, a whirlwind tour of the remodelled rooms and the new weaponries display mounted on the wall of the library.

“It looks great Hamed, it really does.”

“Ever since Doctor Bey died, they pushed all his research into filing cabinets. He was working on some fantastic theories about rituals to honour the death and rebirth of Osiris to celebrate the new year. I’m considering a posthumous publication for the Museum.”

“It all sounds wonderful,” Magdalene beamed up at him and gave him a long hug. “Come on, let’s join the others in the main exhibit and have a sit down. Jonathan’s getting reacquainted with all the old chariot models and statues. I want to know everything you’ve been getting up to. I’ve missed you.”


	8. Will Never Win

The sand around his feet burnt, but he ignored it, eyes locked on the horizon. Imhotep knew Magdalene was back, ever since she touched Egyptian soil it was like a sun had risen inside him, a hot, bright beacon that would lead him to her. He had been calling out to her, but she had buried the pull towards Egypt, until he wondered if she had lost all sense of her true self. Forgotten under layers of this mortal realm, hidden and suppressed until she could almost pass as ordinary.

He knew he would not let that happen. She could not deny it any longer, and he would guide her forward. She was out there somewhere, and he would hunt her down.

Imhotep had struggled after clawing his way out of the sand of Ahm Shere. As the seals of Anubis crumbled and the sacred ground the Scorpion Pyramid stood on withered away, the spells that bound Imhotep’s powers had died. Once he had been lifted from the Underworld by Magdalene his immortality had been returned to him, and his brief time there had opened his mind to the possibilities of his powers, if given time to nurture.

And time he had been given. But no power in the world could stop him from feeling the anguish of abandonment by Anck-Su-Namun. He had endured three thousand years of _hell_ for her. The worst possible torment. The feeling of scarab beetles picking at his toes. The sacrifices he had made and the undying promise of his _soul_ he had given her.

At the first sign of trouble, she ran.

Imhotep had wandered the desert for several months, begging to die and be done. Eventually, he stumbled on a small camp of thieves. They restrained him but let him go when they found nothing valuable. Imhotep felt a hot flash of anger and razed their camp to the ground.

As sand settled and scraps of burning cotton fluttered in the wind, there was peace. In that peace, Imhotep saw Magdalene appear in the dust clouds, dressed in silk. She was his new compass. He regretted how dismissive he had been of her at first, the signs of her strength had been there all along…

_He felt power. He felt control. He felt life again. He felt a sharp knife sticking into the small of his back._

_“You might not die but it’s hard to kill someone if your torso and your legs are on different sides of the room.”_

_It was a subtle hiss in a foreign tongue. Female. Unafraid. That got his attention more than the knife did. He was caught, for a moment, between reaching the sacrifice for his beloved or staying here and discerning why the pest was not scared._

_“I want to know something,” It was saying, Imhotep translated the language in his head. “I had a dream, about you. I did not expect it to be you but it is you and I couldn’t have dreamt about you because I ain’t ever seen you before which means I dreamt up something that was going to happen. Now what the hell have you done to my head?”_

_Imhotep turned, to see a tall, long-limbed and gangly adolescent in front of him, wielding a small, ineffectual dagger like it was a three-foot long sword. She cringed as she saw the gaping hole in the lower part of his face. It was the same child who had been reduced to tears in his presence in the catacombs of Hamunaptra, it had finally found some vestige of courage inside to make up for the pathetic display. He tilted his head with inquisitiveness, this girl was not stupid, there was an obvious fear in her. But she was ignoring her fear…drowning it even with a curiosity of her own._

_His appraisal of her was altered slightly as she stepped closer to him, mapping out his face as she made her own judgements. In that tiny moment, he forgot about Anck-Su-Namun, forgot about the Egypt of his own time, forgot his hatred of the world and thought only of the spark of excitement in her eyes._

_He spoke to her in Ancient Egyptian, his power letting her hear his words in her own language,_ “Dreams are powerful, do not waste them.”

_She blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion._

_“Now you stop that. Just because you got some supernatural hokum up your sleeves don’t mean you got to mess me around like that,” she had an interesting way of speaking._

“You are not afraid?”

_“You just turned a man into a skeleton, ‘course I am. But I want answers and you have them, thought asking you would be easier.” The excitement was waning and she was looking ever more nervous, biting at her bottom lip._

_Imhotep saw no harm in explaining the gift that had been transferred to her when he was resurrected,_ “You dreamt of the future, you have been touched by the Gods through the Book of the Dead.”

_Her nose wrinkled up like she smelt something nasty, she reminded Imhotep of an overly friendly pet. “I don’t want anyone touching me.” Then she snorted at her own joke._

_Imhotep took a step forward and watched her take several back, he was only a few inches taller than her, but he loomed easily as she shrank into her clothes._

_“You have a lot of people afraid of you,” she said._

“It is good that they are afraid. I will destroy them.”

_The pest bit at her lip and stared at him. “I am not afraid. Not anymore.”_

_His eyes narrowed, she was trying to test him. She was playing with fire._ “Why?”

_“I’m not dead.”_

_He lifted a glimmer of a smirk, it was refreshing to talk to someone after all the years of nothing and this girl had more common sense than most of the desperate humans he had so far come across._ “I will not kill someone who has been given a gift by the Gods. You are precious to this earth and I will respect that.”

_“Uh, thank you. That’s very nice of you,” the girl blinked and stood up straight, caught off-guard by his promise. “Can I ask you not to kill my friends too?”_

“No.”

_“Worth a shot, I guess,” she said._

_Imhotep almost laughed, very almost. Watching her expressions and shifting moods was like drinking water after a day in the desert. This, to any ordinary man would be beyond exciting, this…dream that became reality, a woman with a vision of the future who also seemed to be able to see his soul. To any mortal this would be interesting, to say the least. But Imhotep’s attention had waned and the lull in conversation allowed his mind to return to the desert flower he was driven to resurrect._

_Imhotep craved his love and nothing could fill any space in his mind save being reunited with Anck-Su-Namun._

_He had given the pest her due time._

After that, Imhotep kept travelling. First, he went north through the Nubian Desert all the way up back into modern day Egypt until he reached Aswān. There, he knew he had arrived at the southern borders of the Egyptian kingdom, and headed east until he met the Red Sea.

He spent several months along its border, until reaching Karnak. It was here, at the site of the pool of souls, a thin veil between worlds, that he knelt and prayed. Without the Book of the Dead he could not chant the most powerful incantations, but his memory would suffice for his needs.

With his words, he sent out a call, signalling anyone who still believed in the old religion. It would take time for them to respond to the beckoning, and he could wait. He would wait forever if it secured Magdalene as his prize.

To this end, he sent out a second beacon, one that would draw Magdalene gradually back towards Egypt. It would be gentle enough that she would feel it was natural, Imhotep did not want her to grow suspicious. Eventually, he felt a change. The call had been answered. She was coming.

He had hidden away in the ruins of Karnak, growing stronger as more and more loyal servants of the Gods appeared. But now he set out, alone again, towards the north.

This was how he came to Cairo, two years after he had pulled his broken and torn carcass out of the ground, stood on the edge of the city gazing at the massive constructs filled with people. He was only interested in the one. It was dusk now, and the warmth of the sun was fading.

Imhotep closed his eyes and recalled her face, recalled how she came to him in a vision dressed in silks, embers dancing in the air like a halo around her shoulders. That woman was not a real part of this world, yet. First, he had to mold her, break her chains and give her the chance to become greater than she could imagine.

She was his new desert flower. He was her guardian and guide. He was nothing without her.

He was determined to bring her back and free her.


	9. Lead the Way

Whilst Imhotep was dreaming of the past, Magdalene was having dreams of her own.

* * *

_‘You should follow if you want to find us.’_

_“Find who?”_

_Magdalene was stood at the edge of a wide river. It was so large she could not see the other side. Behind her stretched acres and acres of lush grassland._

_‘Us.’_

_“How am I supposed to follow you if I can’t see you?”_

_She walked away from the riverbank and pushed reeds aside, trying to find the voice._

_‘Not follow me, follow us. Me and you.’_

_Magdalene was running through the reeds, but the voice never got closer and she never found anyone hiding in the grass._

_“I don’t understand. You and me?” she looked round wildly. “How can I follow myself? How can I follow you if I don’t know who you are!”_

_She kept running, she was desperate to find the voice, anxiety rising in her chest. The river flowed silently to her right with barely a ripple on the surface, but she could hear the sound of a waterfall. At some point, with no sign of any change in the flow of the river, Magdalene realised it was actually the sound of blood rushing through her ears._

_‘Come on, you can do it,’ the voice whispered. ‘Follow us if you want to find us.’_

_Magdalene swung to look behind her and her ankle gave out. She stumbled and rolled across the ground, rocks digging into her skin._

* * *

Magdalene woke up covered in sweat, but shivered once she pushed the covers onto the floor. She pulled a robe over her shoulders and felt her heart shaking in its ribcage.

She ran out of her room to the next one down and banged on the door. Jonathan opened it in his pyjamas, startled out of sleep from the cacophony Magdalene was creating. She flung herself at him and began sobbing hysterically, salty tears collecting on her collarbone and dampening his shirt.

He embraced her quickly, still too stunned to react as Magdalene’s legs gave out and he supported her weight.

“It’s happening again Jonathan,” she sobbed. “It’s happening again, it’s all happening again. He’s back, it’s happening again.”

He held her as she shook and wailed.

* * *

Jonathan had let her cry herself out before waking up Henry, with instructions to stay with her and console her whilst he went out to fetch Ardeth. Henry was a bit confused as to why they needed the Medjai but he was eager to help Magdalene.

“She’s had a nightmare,” Jonathan explained. “Don’t leave her alone.”

“I won’t,” Henry said, dressed in boxers and an undershirt.

“I’m going out in the car, I’ll bring Ardeth back here. If she wants to fall asleep again, let her, but don’t move her from my room.”

“Wouldn’t she be more comfortable in her own bed?” Henry had his hand on the doorknob to Jonathan’s room.

Jonathan looked at Magdalene’s suite out of the corner of his eye, “That room has some unsavoury memories.”

Jonathan left, and Henry entered to find her curled up on a chaise longue, silent and morose.

“Hey,” he whispered, and put his arms around her. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah,” her voice cracked.

“What was it about?”

“It’s following me.”

Henry barely heard what she said, he wanted to ask her what she meant but she leant her head on his chest with a whimper and he had to shush her gently before she started crying again.

“Do you have the nightmares often?”

“Not since I left it buried in the sand,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Monsters.”

Magdalene did indeed fall back asleep. Jonathan returned with Ardeth to find her lying on the sofa, his duvet covering her and pulled up past her chin. Henry sat on the end smoking a cigar.

“She only had the one nightmare?” Ardeth asked.

“I think so,” Jonathan said and shook her awake. “Hey old mum, it’s okay.”

Magdalene woke up and clutched at his hand. She was pale grey, and looked half her usual size.

“We have to assume the creature is back,” Ardeth said.

“It wasn’t a dream about him,” Magdalene whispered. “This was something else. There was a voice. It sounded like…like it was coming from inside my head.”

“Okay someone explain what is really happening here,” Henry stood up and stubbed his cigar out, “you all talk about being afraid of things that happened in Egypt, mummies and curses and plagues like something out of a fairy tale. Maddie had a bad dream, where’s the fire?”

Everyone fell silent, and Magdalene looked to Ardeth with pleading eyes.

“What you think are fairy stories are real,” Ardeth said to Henry. “The Medjai are warriors for God, sworn to protect these lands against the evil that was buried here more than three thousand years ago. Imhotep is a creature that, when risen, stops at nothing to consume the world. We are what stands between the world and the worst possible darkness you could imagine.”

“You all genuinely believe this don’t you?” Henry breathed.

“Ten years ago, he marked me,” Magdalene said, and pulled the shoulder of her nightgown off. She turned to show him the tattoo on her left arm, the crook and flail in a neat little cross.

“Henry, I know you don’t believe us but I have visions. Imhotep tried to use me to take over the world and we’ve stopped him twice now. But if I’m dreaming again it means he’s alive and I don’t think I can do it a third time.”

“He might not be back,” Jonathan said. “What if she only has the dreams when she’s in Egypt. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ve been to Egypt loads of times with you and Evy.”

“Her visions are linked to her destiny,” Ardeth said. “It may be that her path leads her back to Egypt but it is not the land itself that sparks her visions, it is a warning of the future. She could have them anywhere.”

“I don’t like the idea that Imhotep is my destiny.” Magdalene shuddered and Jonathan rubbed her arm comfortingly.

“What was the dream about?” Ardeth said, bending down to take her hands.

“It was a voice. I was stood by a river and a voice kept telling me to follow ‘us’.”

“Us?”

“I asked it what it meant by us. It said me and it. I was supposed to follow the voice and myself.”

Jonathan cut through the conversation, “We all need to get back to sleep. It’s almost dawn. We can talk in the morning. Ardeth I can drive you back.”

Henry walked out with a few muttered goodnights, still upset. Magdalene agreed, on Jonathan’s request, to stay in his room the rest of the night so he could keep an eye on her if there were more visions. She was fast asleep long before he got back and stayed that way until she was woken up by his snores well after the sun had risen. No one noticed the tiny tears in her nightgown, and they thought the bruises freckling her arms were from thrashing herself awake. Though they looked very like she had been pelted with little pebbles.

* * *

Ardeth re-joined them the next day in the early morning, but not until after a long night of troubled thought. If Magdalene’s destiny was in Egypt and bound to Imhotep, she could pose an incredible threat to all of them. He was sure she would never do anything intentionally but if he let this go on too far then he would have to stop her to prevent the end of the world. What would he have to do to Magdalene to ensure the safety of Egypt, the safety of the human race?

Lock her up?

Kill her?

Bind her powers?

Send her as far away as possible and hide her from the world until she died of old age?

Would just killing the creature every time she wanted to come to Egypt be enough? Or for that matter be sustainable? If she triggered his resurrection every time, then she was the problem and Imhotep was just a consequence.

Ardeth realised, some time after all the stars had been obscured by the pale pink of dawn, part of what had him keep Magdalene at arm’s length was some secret knowledge that she put everyone around her in danger.

None of this he said to them, or let show in his demeanour. He met them all back in the Museum of Antiquities, where Magdalene and Jonathan were attempting to convince Henry that they weren’t all crazy or playing a practical joke.

“Hamed, you still have the Black Book, right?” Magdalene asked.

“Of course,” Hamed produced a key from around his neck and went into a back room where he removed it from the safe. “We keep it under tight security, nobody has touched it since you brought it back from Ahm Shere.”

Henry took his glasses off and pinched his nose. “Ahm Shere? The-the legend of the Oasis in the middle of the desert at the farthest reaches of the Upper Kingdom?”

“Someone knows more history than they’ve been letting on,” Jonathan said, giving him a shrewd look. “It’s not a legend.”

“Well it is now.”

Magdalene shrieked and everyone jumped out of their skin.

Ardeth put his hands up slowly and smiled. “Sorry if I startled you.” He walked over and lay his hand on the cloth wrapping up the Book of the Dead. “But Ahm Shere is buried under the sand, it doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Yes, well, that was our fault,” Jonathan coughed.

“We stopped the Scorpion King from raising the Army of Anubis and destroying the world. Once he was killed, the oasis crumbled and was sucked into the underworld,” Magdalene said.

“Along with that beastly mummy Imhotep. Yes, we’ve stopped him a few times, a bit of fisticuffs a bit of daring-do.”

Ardeth pulled the string tied around the book and revealed its black cover.

“The Book of the Dead,” Henry reached to touch it. “It’s real, you actually have the Book of the Dead.”

He tried to pick it up but both Ardeth and Hamed put their hands on him.

“I would not do that if I were you my friend,” Ardeth warned.

“Reading from this book could bring about the next apocalypse, or worse,” Hamed added.

“Worse? What’s worse than the end of the world.”

Jonathan let out a laugh. “Trust me. You do not want to go there.”

“I, I remember a lecture from a professor of mine, this text is the origins of almost all funerary rites and spells to aid the dead in the underworld. It’s also one of the first compendiums of medicine, some of the practises written in this book are the inspiration for surgery today.”

“And it brings people back to life, at a terrible price. It _cannot_ be read,” Hamed wrapped it back up and locked it away.

Henry had begun to sweat a little. He sat in a chair and spent a few moments staring into mid-air before he took a breath and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

“It’s real. You’re all telling the truth? You genuinely fought a mummy and you are all really telling the truth. It’s real?”

Magdalene rested her palm on the desk, “I think we should take him to a hospital.”

“No, no, I’m fine, I believe you now.”

“Well this holiday’s ruined,” Jonathan said glumly.

“Not necessarily,” Ardeth said. “I don’t think there is any reason to worry about Magdalene’s dream last night.”

“You don’t?” Magdalene and Henry said at the same time.

“Did you see the creature at all?”

“No,” she said.

“I do not think he is resurrected. I think your prophecies are more about yourself than the creature. Your gift came from the Book of the Dead, so did his. You are both connected to the book not each other.”

“So, the hokum is not Imhotep messing with my brain?”

“He did not do anything. The tattoo was a sigil of possession, he is not the source of your powers.”

Ardeth came around Hamed’s desk and pulled two bottles out of his bag, they were full of a clear liquid that, when held up to the light, shone a milky violet around the edges of the glass.

“The dreams are most likely latent, they will come and go as long as you are around powerful Egyptian magic. These are sleeping draughts, they will suppress your visions whilst you are asleep, take them whilst you are in Egypt and you should be safe for as long as you stay here.”

Magdalene took them off him and seemed almost entranced by the light sparkling through them.

“Thanks.”

Ardeth refused to mention any of his concerns about the beast, or his fears that, after Imhotep and the Army of Anubis, Magdalene was perhaps the greatest threat the Medjai would face in his lifetime. If he scared her and she ran back to England, he would have no chance to play out his options, or stop her if necessary.

Jonathan rapped on the desk. “Right, we came here to relive some old memories – just the good ones – so how about we start. Boat trip on the Nile?”

“Ardeth, what’s your plan today?” Magdalene asked, tucking her hair behind one ear.

He spread his hands apologetically, “I’m afraid I must go back to my camp. We are reviewing reports from the scouts and re-assigning men out to the South. There’s some disturbance at Karnak but we don’t know of any archaeological digs planned in the area.”

Hamed chipped in, “I am on my way there as well, before I join you for Doctor Evington’s lecture this afternoon.”

“I’m lecturing on outreach programmes run by the Andrew Matthew’s Charity in the past five years and how it increases our understanding of medical bias and trends in diseases in African and Middle Eastern countries,” Henry explained.

Ardeth smiled and nodded, “I’m sure it is very good work that you do.”

“Doesn’t seem half as important now I know you all have saved the world.”

“Twice,” Jonathan added.

“More than that, my friend.” Ardeth didn’t know where the brag had come from. He felt uncomfortable the moment he had said it, being such a private person and the leader of a secret society.

Jonathan snorted. “It’s an occupation for you.”

Magdalene thought for a minute, then started for the door, “We came so I wouldn’t end up a miserable spinster afraid of a little adventure, a boat trip isn’t going to do squat. Why don’t we come with you to the Medjai?”

Ardeth’s eyebrows went up, “You want to go to the camp?”

“Why not? Would we be intruding?”

“No.”

“Would you be okay if we did?”

Ardeth looked at Hamed then back at Magdalene with his old familiar twinkle. “I’ll lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a mental breakdown. Wrote this in a fit of depression and rage. Am severely touch starved and this may reflect in my work.


	10. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is absolute garbage but if I didn't post it I wouldn't get any further along.

The encampment was out west, beyond the Pyramids and the Valley of the Kings by about twenty miles, a journey of no more than two hours. They took horses, Magdalene showing off a riding prowess almost as good as Ardeth.

“Do you ride a lot?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” she smiled at him, looking very relaxed. “There’s a stables in Kensington, every week I make a trip down and ride there. If the owner takes any new horses, I sometimes take them out after he’s broken them in, see how they are with strangers.”

“I’m impressed.”

“It keeps me busy.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Magdalene looked at him.

“You’re not going to get over him if you keep looking like you want to kiss him.”

She flushed and moved her horse on to ride further up next to Ardeth. If she wanted to find any reprieve from scrutiny, she was disappointed. Ardeth seemed just as interested in prying apart her outer shell to try and analyse her emotions.

“You look nice today,” he said, keeping his eyes forward.

Magdalene looked down at her clothes, tight fitting brown slacks and a short-sleeved white blouse. Her hair was curled and only pinned half up. The very bottom of the tattoo was visible under her sleeve.

“Jonathan doctored my wardrobe,” she commented. “I didn’t realise until after I’d travelled three thousand five hundred kilometres. I had planned to go to the university dressed a little less like I was going on a camping trip.”

“I think it suits you better than those dresses with all the patterns, and that droopy peach hat you wore yesterday.”

“Do you really?” There was a tone of dry humour in her voice.

“It makes you look like a sad ice-cream cone.”

Magdalene laughed loudly, and Ardeth chuckled too. They made eye contact and for the first time neither looked away or felt uncomfortable.

“Well then,” she said, “I’ll take your critique under consideration.”

Her smile could have almost been flirtatious. She followed his example and kept her eyes on the horizon, but drifted her horse gradually closer towards his.

“You look as brooding as ever.”

Ardeth smirked, but tried his best not to show it.

“And you’re wearing your headdress again. I haven’t seen you wearing it for a while.”

“Well, you said I looked better when you could see my hair and my tattoos.”

Magdalene coughed slightly and pursed her lips together before she could make another comment. She did think about what Ardeth said about her appearance, and unpinned her hair, shaking it out and pulling down over one side self-consciously.

“Magdalene,” Ardeth said, “when I spoke about why I – why we lost contact. I would like to talk about it with you again.”

“What is it that you need?” she asked, always concerned for others before herself.

Ardeth checked to see that the other three were far enough away that they could speak privately.

“I would like a chance to start over…to be honest with you.”

“I don’t think I can go back to that Ardeth.”

“I would never ask you too,” he looked at her, hair shining in the sun and mahogany eyes pooling with gold, “but I need to know that the damage I have done was not the reason we should not be together. I need to know that we made the right choices.”

“What if we should be together?”

“Then I pray I am able to repair my mistakes.”

Magdalene bit her lip. “It’s dangerous for me to bring all those emotions back.”

“Any more dangerous than a creature of the undead?”

“No,” she giggled. “Let’s just play it by ear. You don’t have to try and make anything up to me Ardeth, I understand what you did. I just want to enjoy being around you again,” she confessed.

“And if I want to flirt with you?” he said, his rich accent picking up notes of humour. The word ‘flirt’ sounded so foreign in his voice, but he made it sound so good.

Magdalene grinned, “I’d like that. Although I’m not sure you’ve ever been able to _flirt._ Your obliviousness is part of your charm.”

“I’m a skilled warrior, capable of picking up the tiniest detail. I am not oblivious.”

“That’s what you think,” she mouthed.

When they reached the camp, they were greeted by friendlier faces than Magdalene had ever seen on Medjai before. The years of activity and purpose seemed to have done them good. There was only so much secretive brooding, strain and supernatural disasters the tribes managed to cope with. After the war against Anubis, the Medjai seemed more relaxed and willing to communicate with outsiders. It was strange that hardship, war and the threat of an apocalypse had made such a close-knit and severe community open up.

Various people came up to her and said hello, though she couldn’t tell if she had ever actually met any of them. Ardeth had always seemed okay with her mingling with the tribes on only the most casual of bases.

“Hello all!” Jonathan was less in his comfort zone, as was Henry.

Magdalene looked at the pair of them, two white men stood in a little divot in the sand like a pair of modernist art statues in a room of renaissance paintings.

Hamed was walking up to them, holding a small, wriggling thing in his arms.

“Magdalene, come meet my daughter.”

Magdalene gasped as Hamed turned around a small infant, a year old if she was a day, and a beaming grin when she saw the newcomers.

“Oh my goodness! Hello!” Magdalene walked up and waved. “Hamed she looks just like you! What’s her name?”

“Saira, it means Princess.”

“Awww,” she cooed.

Hamed went onto his knees and held Saira gently over the ground, her feet brushing at the sand. Ever so cautiously, the toddler wobbled over and made the foot or so distance to Magdalene, who was holding her arms out in case she fell.

“Hello gorgeous.”

“’Ellow.”

Magdalene bounced her on her hip, “Is that your daddy? Is your daddy a terrible friend for not telling me about you sooner? I think he is, isn’t he?”

Saira giggled nervously at all the attention and looked around for her dad. Hamed held out a finger for her to hold, smiling at her like she was his whole world.

“My wife Murriam wanted me to wait until we could meet you in person,” he gestured to a gorgeous woman stood by watching.

The woman walked up and smiled at Magdalene, her whirlpool eyes and thick lashes, the ringlet of hair that fell across her cheekbone making Magdalene suddenly shy in the presence of her confidence and perfection, even though the woman was some years her junior.

_“Hello, I’m so happy to meet you. Hamed has told us stories about you since we met as kids.”_

Magdalene responded in Arabic, _“He’s exaggerating. And has been holding out on me! It’s nice to meet you too.”_

The two women shook hands awkwardly as Saira pulled on Magdalene’s curls, bending her head and matting up the hair.

_“Sweetheart, no.”_ Hamed tried to pull her off but it made the tugging worse.

“It’s okay, I’ve got a trick for getting kids to let go of things.” Magdalene said, and put her hands underneath Saira’s armpits. “Are we ready? Are we ready?”

Magdalene let out a raspberry as she dipped Saira upside down and swooped her back up. The infant shrieked in excitement and let out incomprehensible shouts. Most of what she said was a garbled jumble of Arabic and baby talk, but in such long strings it couldn’t be understood. Since she wasn’t crying, Magdalene swooped her down a few more times and Saira let go of her hair to clap and waggle her fingers.

Murriam pulled her out of Magdalene’s arms and rubbed noses with her. Hamed took Magdalene by the hand and pulled her further into the camp.

“I remember the last time you sprung up on us, we got to dance with you.”

“Oh,” Magdalene laughed and tried to tug free, “oh no Hamed, I don’t think so.”

Hamed called out to a group sat in the centre of one of the many wide circles of tents, by a huge well all the tribes used.

“Do all twelve tribes live together all the time as one massive group?” Henry asked.

“More so than they used to, it’s easier to mobilise forces when you don’t have to wait for everyone to regroup,” Hamed said.

Several instruments were produced, horns, tambourines, an absolutely unholy number of darbuka drums and more. Magdalene laughed with an embarrassed smile and squirmed her way out of Hamed’s grip and his pleading to sit on the wall of the well, insisting she would spectate.

Whilst the three definitely felt their place as foreigners, everyone was welcoming, and when Henry and Magdalene shouted some encouragement and praise in broken Arabic, it was met with a chorus of agreement and an invigorated effort from the musicians to speed up the music and attract more people.

As is always the case, it was the youngest children who began dancing first, still innocent and uncaring of what others thought. One pair of girls even hugged each other and span around. A dozen pudgy arms thrusting out haphazardly.

They were joined by their mothers, and eventually the crowd moved from the side lines into a large circle of dancers. Those on the outside formed a ring, but would break politely to let through those who wanted to dance, or to let dancers leave to catch their breath.

“’Ellow.”

Magdalene turned to see Saira teetering out of her mum’s grip to reach for her knee. Thinking she wanted to sit with her whilst her mum danced, Magdalene stood up to pick her up.

“Hello sweetie.”

Hamed crept up behind her and pulled a blue skirt around her waist, fastening it tight and not letting her go.

“Now you have to dance with me!” he said.

“No, please!” Magdalene shrieked, being pulled ever further towards the musicians. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll dance.”

“You cannot dance in the sand if you are wearing shoes,” he pointed down at her feet.

Magdalene rolled her eyes and slipped them off, leaving them with Jonathan. The sand ran over her feet, flicking up her ankles as she walked past other dancers.

Hamed held his hand out to her and she accepted with a rue smile, copying all of his footsteps. Someone else took her other hand, then another joined, forming a small chain of people. Soon there was a circle, arms around each other spinning and twisting. Magdalene’s skirt kicked out behind her, tassels flying. Her blood pumped in her head and the adrenaline set her on fire. There was a bubble in her chest, rising upwards. When she let it out, it was laughter. She was laughing out of sheer exhilaration and she could not stop until it was all out of her and she was exhausted with the effort of breathing, huge grin on her face.

She turned about, waving at Jonathan and looking for someone.

“Where’s Ardeth?” she asked Hamed.

“He is not the dancing type,” Hamed panted. “Besides, he has business with the leaders.”

* * *

Ardeth still managed to spot Magdalene in the mix, wrap around her waist and bare feet springing up onto her toes. She looked at home with the carefree music in the air.

He turned back to his discussion with an elder, talks about moving further north to the ports, or back into the desert. Few were comfortable with being so close to the cities for an extended period of time, such was the traditions of their elusive tribes.

Then came a howl, more like a scream. It was the sound of mourning.

Ardeth turned sharply towards it and drew his sword. Those around him moved to follow suit, but he shook his head and held them back with a raise of his hand.

The scream came from out in the dessert, and he walked towards it, a shadow on the dunes at the horizon. The shadow stopped it’s track across the crest of the dune, howled again and continued on.

_“Stay here. Tell no one where I am going,”_ he said.

No one tried to stop him.

Ardeth followed on foot, something told him he would scare off what he was tracking with a horse. It took him half an hour to gain a considerable distance on the figure, and he could see it was canine. The howl was unmistakable, and he was not surprised to find a jackal crossing the desert. He was surprised it was out during the day time, and alone.

If he ever lost sight of it beyond a rise in the landscape, it would howl again. He would always find it stock still. Waiting. But the moment he saw it, the animal would move off again.

He was soaked with sweat by the time he got within forty feet of the jackal. It was sat down this time. Upon Ardeth walking towards it, the jackal got up, snarling and letting out a few warning barks. Ardeth lowered his sword and the animal quietened down, but would not stop baring teeth and growling until Ardeth fully sheathed the scimitar.

He stalked forward another twenty feet, light-footed and barely shifting the sand underneath him. The jackal’s haunches raised, Ardeth took a moment to still and lick his lips in concentration. His hands were open, palms out, a gesture to show he was nonthreatening but also ready to grapple the creature if he had to.

Suddenly the creature made a new noise, it’s jaw and tongue twisting painfully in the effort. It sounded like it barked out “Ardeth”.

Ardeth dropped his hands in shock, and the animal sprang, running full tilt and teeth raised. Ardeth screwed his eyes shut and twisted, bracing for the pain, knocked back into the sand.

His eyes popped open with the force of impact, a huge pressure on his chest. The jackal was gone. He rolled over onto his knees, panting, sweat dripping off his nose and curling through his ringlets. He let out a groan with the effort of standing, one hand on his ribs. Looking down, there were gashes in his robes, some looked like teeth marks.

But no blood.

Through the holes in his clothes, the right side of his chest was unbroken but tattooed with the outline of a canine, akin to several hieroglyphics on ancient murals. He had been chosen and branded.

When he got back to camp there were several people waiting for him, all of which he dismissed with a quiet word about imminent danger they must prepare for. He pulled an embroidered robe over his ruined tunic before anyone else spotted.

Magdalene was the first to pick him out, being on the lookout for him already.

“Ardeth where have you been? You missed all the dancing, and singing from some of the kids.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And we’re going to be late, Henry, Jonathan and I have to go immediately if we want to make Henry’s seminar. Hamed too if Murriam can pry Saira away without her crying. You should have spent a bit of time with us, none of us are going to have the time for a proper goodbye.”

“You just looked so happy with all the dancing, I thought I’d let you enjoy yourself without me getting in the way.”

Magdalene stopped and took in his small smile, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

Ardeth put his thumb to her cheek, “You’re rambling again. It makes your eyes sparkle. It’s the first time they’ve sparkled since you got here.”

She closed her mouth slowly as her entire face glowed a blotchy, sunburnt red, a stark contrast against her pale neck.

“Thanks, Ardeth.” She reached up to place a quick peck on his cheek, then left to catch up with the others.

As she jogged up to them, she caught Henry questioning Hamed.

“You must find it difficult not being able to see your wife and child all the time, what with them living in a travelling camp whilst you work in the city.”

Hamed gave him an offended look down his nose.

“Not everyone has a Victorian terrace with an office in London, Henry old chum,” Jonathan said. “Doesn’t make them savage.”

“No squabbling boys,” Magdalene said, leading her horse to the front of the group. “And we need to make good pace if we want to be back in the city before two. Hope you can keep up. I’ve been dying to put some pace on these things.”


	11. Heat

Laughter from inside the room filtered out into the open, and the dead stillness of the humid night did nothing to dampen the sound. Through the open shutters, Henry, Jonathan and Magdalene were clustered around a table, cards in hand, Magdalene folded in half giggling.

“I told you not to!”

“It’s not my fault!”

“Is too!” she argued with Jonathan, who threw his cards down with a pout.

Henry smirked at him and pushed several mints into the growing pile of assorted confectionary on the table.

“Unless you can match me,” he said, “you’re out and I win everything.”

“I won’t just match you, Sir, I will raise you a toffee,” she said.

“Now this is interesting.” Jonathan began a drum roll on the table.

Henry flipped his cards over, “Pair of aces.”

Magdalene threw hers next to his. “Three of a kind,” she said smugly and pulled the pill of sweets towards her.

“Aha-ha! I told you not to play my sister at poker!” Jonathan jabbed at Henry’s face and ruffled Magdalene’s hair.

Henry sighed whilst scooting his chair back and ran a hand through his hair. “I concede. You’ve bested me.”

“Don’t mess with me, I was taught by an American,” she winked.

Jonathan frowned. “I thought Rick didn’t gamble?”

“He doesn’t, that’s why he taught me so I could gamble for him whenever we went to Chicago,” Magdalene said, with a roll of her tongue.

“Of course he did.”

“Rick?” Henry asked. “Your brother-in-law?”

“Yeah, hope he’s alright back in England. We fought when I last saw him.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t agree with me being back in Egypt. He still blames me for endangering his son.”

“Aw, Maddie,” Jonathan shook her shoulder gently. “You know he doesn’t mean it a jot. Rick’s always been a bit rough around the edges.”

Henry looked thoughtful for a moment. “This being when an undead mummy kidnapped him. I wasn’t aware you had an influence on that part.”

“He thinks I could have stopped any of it from happening if I’d used my visions.” Magdalene knocked back a glass of rum. “ _But._ I don’t care, what happened, happened. I am here to have fun and if he can’t get over it then sod ‘im.”

“You’re starting to sound a bit northern,” Henry sniggered. “Is that the real you bleeding through?”

“It is indeed,” Magdalene popped a chocolate into her mouth. “Now piss off, I need to sleep off the booze before I get a hangover. I don’t want to be traipsing through this archaeological dig Hamed has promised us feeling like my skull’s been cracked open.”

Henry shared a look with Jonathan, “We best leave the princess to her beauty sleep.”

“It would be a shame if wasn’t able to enjoy looking at dirt and old bones,” Jonathan agreed.

There were a few more jibes passed between the three before Magdalene was left to her own devices. She at a few more chocolates, probably a bad idea with the rum. Her nightgown was on the chair in her room but as she put it on, she noticed lots of little holes in the fabric.

“Bloody satin.”

She put on a tank top, and the cotton skirt she had travelled to Egypt in and just about managed to remember to brush her teeth and pull the duvet over her body before she fell asleep.

In some small hour of the night, the shutters Magdalene had left open for fresh air swung in the wind and rattled on their hinges. Sand blew in and coated the floor in a fine dust, collecting as it did every night. But tonight, it swirled and settled in peaks far more intricate than usual, fine swirling patterns that danced and twisted in on each other, growing with every grain of sand.

Magdalene heard whispers from outside in her sleep, the night time breeze coming into the room and catching her ear, making her stir. She rolled over and breathed deeply before opening her eyes. Whispering in her ear was Imhotep, looming over her, a strand of her hair between his fingers.

He looked haunted, deep set eyes with dark pools in the iris. There was a bead of sweat on his lower lip. He was so close that his breath tickled her earlobe and she could count every eyelash, see every pulse in his neck.

Magdalene opened her mouth in shock and Imhotep pressed his finger to her lips.

_“Hush, don’t wake anyone,”_ he said.

Magdalene hadn’t considered screaming, she was too blindsided by his presence in her room. Her first coherent thought was to headbutt him.

His head snapped back and Magdalene was able to push his arms off. She had definitely used enough force to split his lip, when he looked at her it cut right where the drop of sweat had rested, though there was not a drop of blood spilt.

“You’re back, and you’re -” she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. “What do you want?”

_“To give you my gratitude,”_ he said whilst she pulled herself from under him and ran across the room.

Magdalene grabbed the handle of the bedroom door; she had only opened it a few inches before it was pulled back and locked. She turned to see Imhotep with his hand stretched out. He looked fierce, dressed in dark blue robes that cut deeply at his collar, loose sleeves and tight around his waist.

“You’re -”

_“Immortal again. Stronger than ever.”_

“I was going to say an asshole.”

Imhotep actually grinned as he came around, stalking her, she scrabbled back onto the mattress but he followed and cornered her against the headboard.

_“You have always amused me. I have never met someone who keeps at bay so many strong emotions, you should free them.”_

Magdalene’s ears were caught between his words and the sound of her own breath. She realised she was coated in sweat, the humidity outside had crept its way in and filled the air with a hazy mist.

_“You freed me from my prison, and you saved my life. For that I thank you. I was blind and foolish, now I see true power lies in stronger bonds,”_ he stroked her hair. _“I live only for you.”_

He went to kiss her. Magdalene turned her head, breath hitching with fear. Imhotep stopped, and eventually kissed her cheek instead, softly whispering against her skin.

_“Nebthet.”_

The breeze picked up again and Imhotep became sand, blurring at the edges and being carried out of the window in a soft stream, ending with his lips on Magdalene’s cheek. In his place, sat in front of her, was a letter.

* * *

“You didn’t think waking us up for this was reasonable in the slightest?”

Henry was livid when Magdalene had told the men what had happened over breakfast. He seemed to be compensating for being an outsider by reacting to every little detail.

“We are going straight back to England,” Jonathan said, walking away.

“No we are not,” Magdalene ran up to him. “If Imhotep is back, we need to stop him.”

“We can drop off the letter to Ardeth on our way to the airport.”

“Jonathan, I’m not going back. Not until this is finished.”

Jonathan stopped under the shade of some palm trees and turned to look Magdalene in the eye.

“Maddie, I promised you a holiday. You are not roping me into an adventure where the fate of the world is at stake. We’ve saved the world twice, I, for one, think we deserve to stay in retirement. We can’t do this. Rick and Evy maybe but I am not dealing with any more mummies.”

He stalked off, Magdalene staring at his back.

“You said you wanted the old me back.”

He stopped.

“You said if the old me felt uncomfortable she would do everything she could to make herself at home and make everyone else feel just as uncomfortable to prove a point. Well, I’m going to prove a point, I’m going to prove that Imhotep can’t make me feel uncomfortable without me standing up to him. I’m going to prove I still care about the world and that I’m still – still a Carnahan.”

Her mouth was set in a defiant line, her chin raised, but she became a little more apprehensive when Jonathan came back.

“I did promise to knock the ruffian back into you.”

“We can do this,” she said firmly.

“Not without Rick and Evy. But you’re right. We need to see Ardeth and we need to get that letter translated.”

Jonathan put his arm around his sister and they walked back the way they came to the car.

“Hamed is expecting us at the dig site in an hour, he can help us,” Magdalene said. “And we can get Ardeth to meet us there.”

“How?”

“Karim!”

Magdalene called the concierge over, who happily put down his notebook and came over.

“What can I do for you, my dear?”

“I need you to send a message to Ardeth, in the Medjai camp to the west. It’s important. It’s about Im- about the creature.”

Karim became far more serious in a second, “What do you need?”

“Nothing but the message, for now. Can you get him to meet us at the dig site in Saqqara? It’s a bit far but we’ll be there most of the day. Say he needs to bring a small scout team, nothing suspicious that would be missed.”

“Of course,” he said, and left immediately.

Jonathan was silent for a moment, then, “Is everyone in Egypt part of a bloody secret society?”

“Just the ones you don’t pay attention to. Come on, get the car, I’ll get Henry. We need to stop off at the museum. I’m sure Hamed won’t mind me borrowing some books.”

With Hamed away at the dig-site, the few staff were less comfortable with the three white people who walked in and started rifling through the library. A few dared asking what they could help them find but Jonathan waved them away with reassurances whilst Henry carried the books Magdalene pulled out.


End file.
